


like an eternal, endless inhalation

by AoifeMoran



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Expanse (TV), The Expanse Series - James S. A. Corey
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Planet, Alien Technology, Gen, Possession, Protomolecule, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27390622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AoifeMoran/pseuds/AoifeMoran
Summary: A Jedi and their Padawan, alone on a distant planet.Something reaches out.
Relationships: Original Jedi Character(s) & Jedi Padawan Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	like an eternal, endless inhalation

Something foreign has taken up residence behind the Padawan’s eyes in the space between one breath and the next. 

A feeling like ice trickles down the Knight’s back as they look into familiar eyes and find nothing they recognize. Nothing in the mission dossier suggested anything about the possibility of this kind of danger being inherent to the planet. Distant, deeply steeped in the Force, certainly, but no mention of anything that so much as resembles possession. And there would be, if this was a known phenomenon here. No Jedi would withhold this kind of warning.

After all, the Jedi warn the younglings about the danger of possession as early as the _Creche_ , teach them how to keep their awareness tethered to their bodies even while meditating, so that nothing can come in while their mind is adrift in the Force, just as soon as the younglings can be taught. 

There had been no meditation here, no inviting opening, for whatever it is that watches through the child’s eyes to enter in a moment of distraction. No gap in the Padawan’s shielding to take advantage of.

And yet the Padawan’s mouth moves, and the voice that speaks is not the child’s voice, and this is like nothing the Knight has ever encountered, nothing they have ever expected to face, nothing they had ever considered or prepared for, before taking the Padawan on as their student.

“it reaches out it reaches out it reaches out it reaches out, one hundred and thirteen times a minute it reaches out.” Whatever it is that has taken up residence behind the Padawan’s eyes repeats the words over and over, a disturbing mantra.

The Knight has no sense of how much time has passed since the thing started speaking, how many times it has repeated the words. _There is no time_. A fragment from an ancient Jedi mantra-poem, read during the Knight’s own years as a Padawan, surfaces unexpectedly. _There is no when. There is no was, there is no will be, there is only what is_. What there is, the Knight thinks somewhat hysterically, is something foreign inhabiting their Padawan’s body, and not even the slightest hint of where the Padawan’s own mind and awareness has gone. 

“it reaches out it reaches out it reaches out and what reaches out dies,” and the Knight starts at the sudden departure from the repetition. 

The deviation from the expected words, followed by the immediate return to them, reminds the Knight of a disrupted holo, flick-flick-flickering before it resolves itself back into shape. 

Words spring unbidden from the Knight’s mouth, a reaction born from years of repetition and force of habit: “There is no death, there is the Force.” 

The thing in the Padawan’s body does not acknowledge the words in any way, continues its recitation.

“it reaches out it reaches out it reaches out,” and the Knight bitterly appreciates the biting irony even as they search, _reach out_ through the Force, looking for wherever their Padawan has gone. They skirt the edges of that bone-chilling presence and the probing tendrils it extends, expanding their awareness and the mental net of their search in an effort to find the lost child, to bring them home and expel the foreign thing. 

Those same icy tendrils prod at the Knight’s shields, not at all gently. Looking for a weakness that will allow it in, no doubt. And why shouldn’t it? The mind and body of a fully trained Jedi Knight are a much better prize than those of a Padawan.

The Knight pushes these thoughts away, breathes, focuses. 

_There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force_. The parts of the Code that feel most relevant here, the parts the Knight takes comfort in and draws strength from to keep fighting that alien presence and searching for their lost charge.

The thing possessing the Padawan’s body repeats its mantra, and the Knight repeats theirs, and the thing possessing the Padawan’s body repeats its mantra, and the Knight breathes out and searches farther afield still, and the thing possessing the Padawan’s body repeats its mantra, and the Knight calls out, reaches out for the Padawan, and the thing possessing the Padawan’s body flick-flick-flickers, deviates again. 

“One hundred and thirteen times a second, nothing answers and it reaches out,” it says, and then, once again reminding the Knight of a disrupted holo resolving itself into its previous image, it returns to the original words. 

The Knight’s thoughts acquire an edge of terror. Is this a threat? A perverse statement of fact from whatever this thing might be? The Knight’s jaw clenches. No. They refuse to accept the possibility that the Padawan is lost, that the Padawan will not, can not, answer their calls. 

_There is the Force. I am one with the Force,_ the Knight thinks furiously, frantically. _I am one with the Force and the Force is with me, and there is no death and there is no chaos and there is no emotion, there is_ peace. _There is the Force, there is the Force and I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,_ and it will be enough, it _must_ be enough to find the lost child.

Distantly, the Knight recognizes that the cold wetness on their face is blood, trickling slowly down from their nose. The metaphysical strain of fighting off the attack on their mind while searching for the lost Padawan takes a physical toll on their body. It is not unexpected. The Knight catalogues the information, acknowledges it, and continues to search.

“it reaches out it reaches out it reaches out it reaches out and it reaches out and it reaches out and it reaches out and then it stops,” the alien mind says, and then it is gone, or as near to gone as the Knight can sense, a holo that flick-flick-flickers out and collapses, and the Padawan’s body collapses too. 

The Padawan’s chest had been impossibly still during the possession by whatever that thing had been, and the Knight lays the child flat on frozen, snow-covered ground, checks for a pulse and for breathing, finds neither. 

Training kicks in. 

They tip the child’s head back with a gentle hand on the forehead, bringing the chin up. Mouth and nose are clear of obstructions. No barrier on hand. No matter. Pinch the child’s nose, seal the Knight’s mouth over the Padawan’s, thank the Force that both are from humanoid species, blow into their mouth, watch the chest rise. Four more breaths. Struggle to remember if the location of the heart is not humanoid-standard, the same as the Knight’s own heart. Fail to remember. Pray to the Force and any listening gods that the baseline-humanoid resuscitation method suffices. Place one hand on the centre of the child’s chest, push down, release, repeat, maintaining the proper rhythm throughout. Thirty compressions, two breaths, repeat. 

Then, finally, on the third iteration of this cycle, the small body shudders, takes one gasping breath and then another. Tears prickle in the Padawan’s eyes as they blink up at the Knight, and the Knight smiles giddily, sighs in relief to see that the foreign presence is gone and the child is back, closes their eyes and tips their head skyward in a silent prayer of gratitude.

The Padawan reaches out.

The Padawan reaches out, like a spark closing the gap, and the Knight meets them, embraces them, arms encompassing the small body, and they cling to each other in the aftermath of the ordeal.

“Don’t worry,” the Knight says. “We’re gonna be fine.”


End file.
